


First Step's First

by juniorstarcatcher



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Healing, Post-Canon, Post-War, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniorstarcatcher/pseuds/juniorstarcatcher
Summary: Armitage Hux was saved after the Battle of Exogol. Rose Tico has offered to help him heal.But physical wounds aren't the only ones that need healing, and soon Hux learns that Rose, genius engineer that she is, can't fix everything for him.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, rose tico - Relationship
Comments: 27
Kudos: 264
Collections: Rose Tico Fanworks





	First Step's First

“Starting is daunting, true.

Trusting in something new.

Fearful your luck will be reversed.

But I have a feeling I’d steady you if you try.”

* * *

The war had not ended how he’d hoped. The war had ended how he’d feared. And now, Armitage Hux had to live with that same fear every single day.

To his immense surprise, they hadn’t killed him. They hadn’t ignored the valuable intel he’d provided and let the wound dealt him by Pryde slowly eat at his life force until it was nothing.

One minute, he closed his eyes against the deafening blow of a blaster bolt. The next minute, he was in a Resistance base, laying—uncuffed, unrestrained, and rendered immobile by the shattering pain of twin wounds in his leg and his rib cage—on a cot in their medical wing.

He could tell it was The Resistance that had captured him. The frenetic energy of the space screamed of their lack of discipline and decorum. He was sure he’d even heard someone singing—imagine, singing!—an Onderonian lullaby to a patient a handful of beds down from his.

On the rare occasion when Hux allowed himself to dream of a future after the War, he always imagined himself alive. A victor. Decorated with the medals of a War Hero.

He’d never imagined himself living as a prisoner of war. A wounded one at that. Perhaps he really was the weak boy his father always said he was. The bitter taste of bile rose up in Hux’s throat.

Well. Only one thing to be done. Escape. And quickly. In a mass of injured bodies this large—the medical bay was, in fact, a base hangar cleared for the purpose—it would be easy enough to slip out undetected.

Moving his arms up, he tried to force himself to sitting. He cried out in pain, slamming his eyes shut against the sensations currently eating right down to his very bones.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” an assured, but warm, feminine voice said.

“Well,” Hux growled, knotting a fist into the loose tunic currently covering his bandaged torso. He refused to open his eyes. Refused to greet her. This stranger. This captor. “You’re not me, are you?”

A small, not unkind, chuckle answered him. At the foot of his cot, he felt a small body sink into the mattress beside his legs. The stabbing from his pelvis down to his toes made moving away from her impossible; the heat from her body radiated through the thin blanket covering him. “You’re right about that. I ended up on the winning side of the war.”

“Are you here to gloat before you throw me in a cell?”

“No.”

They weren’t going to torture him? They weren’t going to toss him away in a cell and throw away the key? He’d studied enough of the First Order’s prison system to know that such a thing would _never_ be allowed to happen. This time, Hux couldn’t help but slam his eyes open.

That’s when he saw her. Not for the first time, but for the first time that mattered. Small and curvaceous with an engineering emblem on her shoulder, she fussed with a handheld mechanical device.

She was beautiful. The golden sunlight flooding the front of the hangar reached even this far back, dancing along her perfect cheeks.

The strangest thing, though? She smiled. Here she was, in the middle of a military hospital, treating a high-ranking official from an enemy, and she was smiling.

He didn’t believe in the sentimental drivel that parents often told their children about creatures like angels and sirens, but he _did_ believe that she was, in that moment, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And he hated her all the more for it.

With a slap of her palm against the body of the device, a small, harmless laser counter erupted from the emitter at the cylinder’s cap. She waved it in his direction. “I’m here to take your measurements.”

Measurements? For what? No, he didn’t want to know. Anyway, he didn’t even have time to ask, because the moment he opened his mouth to do so, her free hand reached for his leg. Panic shot through him.

  
“Don’t—”

But her fingers were already touching his ankle. Harmless and sweet as morning air.

It was the first kind touch Hux could remember in…

It was the first kind touch Hux could remember ever receiving.

And those eyes. Those eyes captured his and refused to let go.

“We’re not your enemy. Not anymore. We’re not going to let you suffer.”

She was showing him kindness. Accepting it would be weakness. Foolish.

No matter how he wanted it.

“You should,” he hissed. “You should have let me die on that ship.”

The engineer—whose name was _Tico_ , if the stitching on her uniform was correct—finished her measurements and turned off her measuring unit. “I know. But letting you die would have been too easy.”

* * *

They _did_ eventually move him to quarters. As they figured out what to do with him, they fitted him with twin monitors on his ankles _and_ a lovely little device implanted—painlessly, he was grateful to note—into the back of his neck.

He’d been given a measure of freedom. Not that it mattered. Despite the fact that his wounds had healed, he could barely walk.

Escape, like going to the Mess Hall without the aid of several rough-handed strangers, was quite impossible.

With every passing day, Hux retreated deeper and deeper into himself. They should have killed him. They should have let him die. Tico’s words repeated in his head, over and over again. _Letting you die would have been too easy_.

What he wouldn’t give for a little bit of easy right now.

Especially when the safe-lock on his shabby quarters—a far cry from his officer’s hall back on _The Finalizer_ —gave way to a command override code, and a booming, overconfident, and eerily familiar voice shattered the stillness of his room.

“Hugs! You’ve got a visitor.”

“ _What_?”

As fast as he could, Hux struggled to sit up in bed; once he’d managed it, a dark-haired soldier swanned in, arms open wide and grin wider than could be healthy. Hux couldn’t ever imagine feeling the need to smile that excessively.

But then again, Hux had never been on the winning side of a war.

“Hugs! Remember me? The Dreadnought? The General’s message about your mother?” The soldier slapped himself in the chest by way of declaring himself. “Poe Dameron!”

Oh, Hux remembered him. A chill rushed through his veins. So, this was how they took him, this was how his end came? At the hands of a laughing buffoon who’d bested him once before?

“I’m not in the mood for visitors.”

“Too bad,” Dameron beamed. “Come on in, Rose!”

Before Hux had even a breath of a moment to protest, the small familiar figure of Tico, the engineer who’d taken his measurements, entered the room, pulling the hydro-lift sled hovering behind her.

“And here….” She crooned, grunting as the weight of the metal implements atop the sled glistened in the low light of Hux’s quarters. “It is!”

Two long, metal staffs. Six metallic cuffs of varying pair size. Hux narrowed his gaze.

Everyone around him was too happy. Too excited. He was instantly suspicious of the whole endeavor.

“What…what is that?”

Despite his dark tone, Rose—a fitting name, Rose—allowed a flush of excitement to overtake her decidedly pretty features. “It’s going to help you learn to walk on your own again. I built it. You just slip these over your legs and the magnetic fields between the bars and the clasps will help you walk until you can build your muscles up. We’ll have to make adjustments as you get your strength back, but this should work to start.”

Hux scanned the offer for an angle. What purpose would healing him serve? And if this was some cold, calculated gesture on The Resistance’s part, then why did Rose Tico smile at him as though they’d just won a doubles Swoop Race together?

“I don’t…” He swallowed, hard, feeling practically naked to stand there before them without the armor of his First Order uniform. That Uniform had been part of his identity, part of his mask. The soft fabrics of the civilian clothes the Resistance had given him left his vulnerable. Exposed. “You shouldn’t do this if you’re planning to kill me. It’s a waste of resources.”

“If you’re planning to die, it shouldn’t matter to you what we waste resources on.” Rose shrugged as she retrieved the metal items from their cart. The two crawl-bars, she set up about arm’s length apart from each other at the far end of his quarters. They were only about a step or two long now, but Hux could tell that they were made to expand. She left the six cuffs on his small, unused table. “Besides, I like to build. I like to build helpful things. And you look like you could use a lot of help.”

“Your _help_? I don’t need your help.”

“Okay, then,” Rose said, crossing her arms. She leveled her gaze at him. Unbowed. Unafraid. She wasn’t going to be pushed away so easily. “Get up and say that to my face.”

Hux ground his jaw. They both knew he couldn’t do that. Heat crept up his exposed neck. Rose only huffed.

  
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Place the cuffs on your ankles, knees and thighs. They’ll automatically activate the magnets in the walk-bars. Use it. Use it at least three times a day.”

And with that, she left. She left Hux alone with Poe Dameron and more questions than answers. 

“Don’t worry, Hugs,” Dameron said, tossing a wink in his direction. “We’ll get you dancing again in no time.”  
  
“I _never_ dance,” Hux replied. “And I don’t intend to begin now.”

But that night, when he went to bed, he dreamed about it. Dancing. With a certain dark-haired mechanic who fit perfectly in his arms.

The next morning, he began working with the machine.

* * *

Days passed. He followed her instructions. Three times a day, he would slip the metallic cuffs up his legs, activate the magnetic field, and attempt to use the bars and the electric hum to pull himself the same three steps.

It wasn’t going well.

Hux heard the bitter laughter of his father ringing in his ears every time he fell. He’d been hearing that laughter a lot lately.

But then, one morning, Hux found himself on his knees, gasping for breath, when a familiar shadow with the scent of hydrofuel and Mycosia blooms crossed over him.

Rose Tico had arrived. Only this time, it wasn’t in his dreams.

Humiliation gripped at his neck. Perhaps this was why they’d given him this machine, so they could watch him fail and laugh at his ineptitude. His inability to save himself.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see your progress. You already look much better, all things considered.”

But when Hux looked up, Rose wasn’t laughing. She was studying him with kind eyes. Kinder than he deserved.

"I don’t need your help,” he growled.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on offering any.”

That wasn’t true. She said it as though it was true, but everything in him told him that it was a lie. If he asked…she would help him without hesitation. It was just the kind of person she was. The kind of person who would help save the life of an enemy.

He wanted to hate that conviction. Wanted to hate _her_. But he couldn’t manage it. All he could do was pretend.

“Why did you do this? I don’t understand. The First Order is gone. I am a useless prisoner. Why…why have you done this?”

“Because it was the right thing to do.”  
  
“But I have nothing to offer you,” he reminded her, as frustrated with her lack of understanding as if she’d been one of his own soldiers.

“All the more reason.” In one smooth, welcoming gesture, she reached her hand down towards him. Offering her assistance with a callous, ungloved hand and a kind smile. “Here. Let me help you up.”

He did not take her hand. “You Resistance don’t understand the way the universe works.”

“Really? Because last time I checked, you’re the one currently sitting on the ground because you won’t take someone’s hand. Maybe _you’re_ the one who doesn’t understand the universe. Anyway, enjoy the floor, Hux.”

She started for the door, and for a moment, he was content to watch her go. Yes. That was good. He’d pushed her away. He’d succeeded. Perhaps she wouldn’t come back tomorrow. Perhaps she would never come back. That would be best. That would keep the feelings of gratitude, of warmth, of conflict he felt every time he looked at his machine at bay.

Yes. Perhaps she would never come back.

Now that the possibility sat before him, he could no longer accept it.

“Wait,” Hux called, impulsively. No turning back now. Not without showing his weakness. Rose turned on her heel to face him once more. He’d never been in the business of giving compliments, but…but now seemed as good a time as any. “It really… is an ingenious device. I know good design when I see it, and this…this is brilliant.”

_You are brilliant_, he wanted to say. But the words died in his throat.

_Please come back. Please don’t go forever_.

“If you were so inclined, you could…You might want to study the way your device works in practice. I use the machine every hour after meals. My door will be open should you wish to observe.”

“I’ll consider it. Thanks, Hux.”

“Armitage. My name is Armitage.”

Another impulsive gesture, but one that earned him a smile. His father had been Hux. When she smiled at him…perhaps he didn’t want to be Hux any longer.

“Right. Well, _Armitage_. My name is Rose. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

* * *

She did come back. The next day. And the day after that. And after, after, after. As the weeks passed, the bars he walked grew longer. She made adjustments. And when there were no more adjustments to make, some days, she just came to sit at his desk and look over Pads as he and the magnets did their work to strengthen him again.

Armitage couldn’t imagine the First Order helping a prisoner become strong again. Every strong fighter was a threat.

Rose no longer saw him as a threat. That should have infuriated him. Instead…it filled him with light.

When she was there, with him, it was the one time of day when the noise in his head disappeared. When the echoes of his crimes and his guilt subsided into still, quiet. Here, on the base, the Resistance soldiers forced to share air with him never tired of reminding him of the human cost of his quest to bring order to the chaos of the galaxy.

He’d been trying to save children from the cruel fates he’d endured as a child. Trying to save women from men like his father. Trying to save them all. But every day, he was confronted with the stories of lost sisters, brothers, children, parents—some even carried holocards with their pictures and showed them off to him, introducing new characters to the nightmares that met him every night when he fell asleep.

Most of the ticking minutes of the passing, grey days only stoked his fires for death. For his own execution. But when the Commander was nearby…he didn’t want to disappear. He wanted to be better.

Not that he would ever tell her that, of course.

Today, on one such day, she didn’t arrive alone. Burrowed into the chaotic mess of her hover-cart were a handful of small animals, who, once the cart had come to a full and complete stop, didn’t wait for an invitation to begin exploring their new surroundings.

Rose carried on as if they didn’t exist or bother her, choosing instead to offer him a small, smiling greeting before setting to work lengthening his walk-bars. Several steps on his own were now easy enough, and Rose was confident he would be up and walking in no time.

From his place at the edge of his bed, Hux surveyed the small creatures as they ambled about on uneasy, orange legs, carefree as can be despite the fact that they were in the quarters of a monster. He did his best not to sneer at them, even when two of them started burrowing through a small pile of his personal effects across the room.

“What are…those things?”

Rose blinked and looked up from her work, almost as if she’d gotten so invested in the machinery she’d forgotten where she was. Armitage couldn’t help but feel his lips tug into a small smile. “Oh. They’re Porgs. They’re from this island somewhere on—Well, I forget where they’re from, but they nested in the Millenium Falcon and never quite left. Now, you’ll find them all over the base.”

A small _coo_ down at his feet pulled his attention from Rose’s sweet, kissable smile. There, nuzzling up against his legs, was a small ball of feathers she’d called a _Porg_. The creature was little more than a hatchling, with its colors just coming in.

“Seems like she likes you,” Rose said, with a strange, unreadable smile.

For most of his life, Armitage hadn’t known how to be gentle. His father certainly had never shown him the way. But when the small animal turned its eyes up to him, he couldn’t help but lower one shaking hand to its head, so he might run his fingers along its cloud-smooth feathers. He was rewarded with another coo. The animal nestled closer to him, nudging him, and he opened his hand to it so that he might pick it up and hold it to his chest.

“You’re a natural,” she added. “Some people say that animals are a good judge of character. They can see things in people that others can’t.”

That was almost close to a compliment. He couldn’t accept that. Armitage shrugged. “I… I had a cat. Millicent.”

“Really? You don’t seem like the warm and fuzzy type.”

“I’m not.”

“I bet Millicent would beg to differ.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“That porg is already asleep in your hand.”

* * *

The porgs continued to join them for his sessions. As did Commander Tico. Soon, he was walking long and far enough that he’d outgrown his confining quarters, and the Commander allowed him the use of an adjoining workshop to her engineering department, where he could practice and work at his own leisure.

He looked forward to those hours. Looked forward to seeing her, to talking to her, to feeling like perhaps the world hadn’t ended when the war did.

For the first time in his life, Hux felt the faint flicker of hope. Every day in Rose’s presence only fanned the flame.

One day, the entire base became abuzz with talk of a Victory Celebration. The promise of dancing and music and alcohol and the excesses of peacetime hung in the air like the scent of fresh, cleansing rain. Armitage didn’t join in their excited chattering in the mess hall, but that didn’t stop him from daydreaming. From hoping.

Hours later, as he readied himself for his exercises, he glanced over at Rose. She was bent over a broken droid as a Porg watched her from the nestled safety of a nearby empty caf mug; a halo of golden light from a work lamp crowned her, giving her an otherworldly glow that made it all too easy to imagine her swanning around a dancefloor, the belle of the ball.

What would she want with someone like him? A frail, broken man who’d been on the wrong side of a war?

Still, he couldn’t help but imagine it.

“Commander Tico?” he asked, quietly.

  
“Mm-hm?”

“Do you like to dance?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, she pushed the welding goggles away from her face and knitted her brow.

“You know, I can’t think of the last time I danced. I used to love it, though. Back before the war. Why do you ask?”

Armitage opened his mouth. _Would you ever like to dance with me_? Closed it. He’d always been a coward.

“No reason.”

* * *

The Victory Celebration grew closer with each day. And he was determined that he would be there, standing on his own two feet, so he could ask her to dance.

Hope was the only thing he had left, and he clung to it with every trying, exhausting step, until finally, they moved away his walk-bars and loosed the cuffs.

He was going to try it on his own now. Walking on his own.

“Alright. You’re all set. Let’s try to walk across the entire way. Come on, Armitage. You can do it.”

Yes. Yes, he could do it.

One step. _I’ll walk in the room._ Two steps. _She’ll be standing there, resplendent in red._ Three steps. _I’ll offer my hand_. Four steps. _I’ll ask her to dance._ Five Steps. _She’ll smile and say –_

Then, a muscle in his right leg twitched. It gave. And he went toppling down to the floor with it, collapsing down with a painful thud as his body and the concrete below collided.

Rose gasped. The porgs scattered in fear. “Armitage!”

_Failure_.

What had he been thinking? How had he let these Resistance delusions so thoroughly infect his mind?

It wasn’t about failing in this. It wasn’t about his body. It was about _him_. And the faint, distant hope that he could ever reach her.

Rose Tico was as impossible, as unreachable as redemption. He could never deserve her. Never earn her. No matter how he tried, he would always end a broken man, thwarted by his own failings. 

The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth as she scrambled towards him. He held out one halting hand.

“Go.”

“But—”

Rage overtook him. It ate at him from the inside out. “I am never going to become one of you. Stop trying to save me. Go.” When she didn’t move, he let the monster within him out. “Go!”

She obeyed his order. Leaving the room as empty and cold as Hux felt on the inside. 

It had been the right thing to do. The right thing to push her away, to end their acquaintance before either of them could get hurt.

It was, perhaps, the first time he’d _done_ the right thing for the right reasons. And now that he knew how truly awful it felt, it wasn’t any wonder why he’d spent most of his life avoiding it.

* * *

But, of course, no one could leave him to his misery. General Dameron eventually found time in his busy schedule of organizing the Galactic Republic’s Fleet to pay him a visit. 

“So. Hugs,” he said, leaning in the doorway of Hux’s quarters. “You want to talk about it?”

He did not look up from his work—the busy work of organizing old First Order files for the archives, the only work that he was deemed qualified for—to greet him or respond. His stomach turned. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Rose Tico. The girl who lived on caf and hope for weeks so she could build you that walking machine of yours? The one you practically dropped a Star Destroyer on when you told her you weren’t worth saving?”

“I am a war criminal. She is a member of the winning side. She is wasting time, resources, and, yes, caf and hope on me.” Hux leveled his gaze at the cocky pilot and repeated what he’d told himself thousands of times over the last few days. “If _I_ were her superior officer, I would have ordered her back to her normal duties long ago.”

“Thank the Force you’re not her superior officer then.”

“I have failed in everything, Dameron. I would only fail her. That cannot be allowed to happen.”

He couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t destroy her the way he’d destroyed the Galaxy. But General Dameron did not agree. The arrogant smirk slipped from his face.

“You know…it’s not your body that’s broken, Hux. I think it’s your heart. And until you work on fixing that, nothing else is ever going to matter.”

This speech wasn’t for his benefit, he knew. Dameron cared for Rose, not for him. But still, he couldn’t help the stirring in his heart at his words; Hux tried to drown the sensation. 

“You should have killed me while you had the chance.”

“Probably. But that would have been too easy,” Poe’s smirk returned at Hux reeled. Rose had once told him something similar. “Letting you live is hard. But the hard stuff is always worth it.” 

* * *

_The hard stuff is worth it. The hard stuff is worth it_.

That mantra echoed in Hux’s mind like a catchy refrain as the days passed. He’d thought that surviving the war would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But it wasn’t even close. _This_ was the hardest thing.

One by one, he went through the First Order files and cross-referenced intelligence reports with everyone on the Resistance Base. And one by one, he found them.

  
Every day, he would go on a walk. Starting with the rooms closest to his quarters, he used a walking stick and whatever protruding wall fixtures he could get his hands on to hobble to someone on that list.

And he would apologize. Look into the eyes of those who’d had their lives, their homes, their families, their lovers stolen from them, and he would tell them the truth. Words would never be enough, but it was a start.

_I am sorry for what I did, for what it stole from you. And I will work every day for the rest of my life to help you build a better world. I am sorry. I am so sorry._

Some beat him until he couldn’t stand. Some cried and slammed the door in his face. But even more welcomed him in and talked until they couldn’t speak anymore, told him that they hated him and hated themselves for feeling that way. Some found him again later and told him that he was forgiven.

It was tearful. And painful. And more healing than he ever could have wished for.

The Resistance surprised him. They reawakened his hope.

And with every day, with every walk, with every conversation, he grew stronger. And stronger. And stronger.

Not just his body. But his heart, too.

And then, finally, the night of the Victory Celebration arrived. Dressed in a fine set of simply elegant clothes that one of the men he’d met during his walks offered him, he leaned light against his cane and headed for the hangar.

Hesitating outside, he collected his courage. He’d saved his most difficult apology for last. All of his hope hung on this moment, on the woman who’d first showed him that hope was even possible. Then, he drank in a deep breath and entered the swinging party.

All around him, couples and friends danced and laughed, cried happy, cathartic tears and sang a little bit off-key, but more joyfully than he could ever remember a song sounding. A few familiar faces waved at him, or nodded their heads in respect, but there was only one person he wanted to see. One person he –

_There_. There she was. The crowd parted and it was as if the galaxy had paused for a moment so he could behold her.

She saw him, too. Their eyes met. Her mouth parted. And, drawn together by some invisible force, they crossed the empty space between them.

“Commander Tico.”

“Armitage.”

“Rose, I…” He’d practiced this speech countless times, but now that he was here, searching her eyes for an answer, his heart lodged in his throat. “I am sorry. For everything. As it turns out, learning to be better is difficult.”

Her lip curled up in a half-smile. “More difficult than dying, I hear.”

“Yes.” He smiled. A true, honest smile that felt more freeing by the moment. “But quite worth the effort.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Forgiveness couldn’t be won in a moment. Certainly _her_ forgiveness couldn’t, not for the crimes he’d committed. But it was enough of a start to fan the flames of his hope until they caught and consumed him.

“Would you…” He swallowed. “Would you like to dance?”

“I thought you weren’t the warm and fuzzy type.”

“You have changed everything else about me. Why not this, too?”

Warm and fuzzy didn’t seem so bad when it meant holding her in his arms.

“Yeah,” she said, after a moment of consideration. But she let a teasing note enter her tone. “I think I’d like to dance. To see how your healing is progressing. For research.”

“Yes. Of course. Just for research.”

Easy as breathing, she took his outstretched hand and together, they moved into the center of the dancefloor, where Armitage held her with all of the hope and promise of the future. And in doing so, he slipped the final piece of his broken heart back into place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I've been on such a GingerRose/Gingerflower/Roux kick lately and I've been loving it. This little piece was inspired by @_afterblossom_ on twitter, who posted an adorable drawing of Hux and Rose and some porgs working on Hux's post TROS physical therapy. I knew I just had to write it, and I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know in the comments what you think!


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